


Capturing The Muse

by flawedamythyst



Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Photographer, M/M, Model Bucky Barnes, Photographer Clint Barton, Photography as Worship, Porn with Feelings, Schmoop, blowjob, photographer/model
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:26:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22470286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: If Clint had lived a few hundred years ago and been a painter instead of a photographer, people would have called Bucky his muse.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 36
Kudos: 269





	Capturing The Muse

**Author's Note:**

> Endless love and thanks to Kangofucb and Villainny who remain, as always, my muses.

If Clint had lived a few hundred years ago and been a painter instead of a photographer, people would have called Bucky his muse. And then burnt them both at the stake or whatever they did to blatant homosexuals back then.

Or maybe they wouldn't have; look at Michelangelo. 

At any rate, these days Clint was just a guy with a camera getting paid to make fashion look good, and he'd never met anyone who looked as good in clothes as Bucky did.

Or out of clothes, come to that, but Clint didn't have the kind of career that meant he could get away with arty nudes and he wouldn't stoop to the cheaper kind of naked pics, even if Bucky had been okay with it. He deserved better.

So instead, Clint had this.

"Okay, we're done with the shirts. Just the trench coat and we're done."

Bucky nodded and headed over to the rack of clothes that was acting as wardrobe. Kate followed him over to play with his hair and touch up his makeup. Clint made sure Bucky was hired for just about every contract he took if he could get away with it, so she knew exactly how to make him look his best.

And, fuck, he always looked his best. Clint already had his cover shot; Bucky's broody smoulder as he draped himself against the walls of the abandoned warehouse they were in would have done for any fashion magazine out there, let alone a mid level clothing brand's catalogue like the one they were shooting for today.

The trench coat shots were just as easy, Clint getting Bucky posed on the rusted metal stairs, half-turned as if he'd been called back by someone. 

"You want more brooding?" asked Bucky.

Clint shook his head. "Let's go for 'this trench coat makes me feel like a superstar'. Something a bit old school Hollywood."

Bucky nodded and nailed it, just as Clint had known he would. It only took a few more minutes to get all the shots he needed, just as the light started fading into something a bit too dramatic for selling clothes. 

"Okay, that's it," he said, and Bucky went to change back into his own clothes while Kate and Clint packed most of their stuff up and loaded it into the van.

"I'm guessing you'll be staying behind," Kate said and Clint just gave her a shrug and an apologetic smile, because she'd been his assistant too long and knew exactly what came after a shoot with Bucky.

"Just gonna get a few for my portfolio," he said, as if either of them would believe it. None of the photos he took when it was just him and Bucky ever went anywhere that anyone else might see them.

"Sure," she said, rolling her eyes. "Whatever."

She drove off in the van, and Clint turned back to where Bucky was waiting for him, leaning against a doorframe and giving him a tiny smirk that Clint wanted to photograph almost as much as he wanted to kiss.

He did both, first raising his camera for the shot, then leaning in to kiss the wider, smugger look that the smirk had broadened into.

"How do you want me?" asked Bucky, arching his eyebrow in a tease.

The first time they'd done this, it really had been for Clint's portfolio. He'd been desperate to take some proper photos of the hot model he'd spent the afternoon putting in the background of photos of wedding dresses, staring at the female models as if he'd been struck dumb by the beauty of the endless layers of lace and frills that the designer had thought looked elegant. Clint had been certain that Bucky would turn him down when he offered to pay him out of his own pocket to stay around for an hour after the official shoot was over, but Bucky had just given him that same smirk and agreed. 

Very few of the photos Clint had taken the day had been fit for his portfolio, but he hadn't minded at all. They'd fucked right there in the ridiculously expensive hotel room the designer had arranged for the photoshoot, and then gone back to Clint's and fucked again. 

Some of Clint's very favourite photos were from just after that: Bucky lying naked and relaxed in his bed with a white sheet draped over his lap, contrasting with his tanned skin. Bucky sat sideways on Clint's sofa in one of his hoodies, pizza slice in hand as he rolled his eyes at the way Clint hadn't been able to stop taking photos of him. That had been the moment Clint had known he wanted to try for something more than a one night stand, or even a string of them. He’d wanted Bucky in his life just as much as he could get him. He’d asked him out on a date, then taken a photo of Bucky’s pleased, almost bashful expression because he’d wanted to chronicle every single version of him.

And he still couldn't stop taking photos, even after four years together. There just always seemed to be something more he needed to get on film.

Today he'd put in a black and white film to try and get some contrast shots and really pull out the classic Hollywood profile of Bucky's jawline.

"Just here, in the light from the window," he said, guiding Bucky over to where the shadows would fall in precisely the right way.

Just like always, Bucky immediately caught on to what Clint was going for and his face took on exactly the right look of seriousness with a hint of mystery. Clint started clicking the shutter immediately. 

"How are you so fucking perfect?" he murmured as he moved around Bucky to highlight his chin, his cheekbones, the way his hair fell across his forehead. Today he had carefully sculpted stubble that left a dark shadow across his face, and fuck, Clint couldn't decide if he wanted to photograph it or lick it.

Photograph it. He could lick it later, but right now he was recording Bucky's beauty for posterity. 

He swapped out his camera lens so he could take closer shots, focusing on the curve of Bucky's throat and the dark line of his bearded chin against it, or the pale flash of his skin framed by the unbuttoned collar of his shirt.

He found himself undoing more and more of Bucky's buttons, pulling his shirt open first to put his collarbones on display, then the muscled lines of his chest.

"Do you just want me to take it off?" asked Bucky, sounding amused.

Clint pulled himself away from taking photo after photo, and took a pause. "Sure," he said, trying to sound casual about it and then wondering why he bothered. Bucky knew just how endlessly fascinated he was by documenting Bucky's body, it was far too late to try and play it cool.

Bucky shrugged the shirt off, fabric falling down to his elbows and, _fuck_ the fall of the fabric against the thick curve of his biceps was the perfect contrast.

"Hold it there," said Clint, and focused in again, staring at his boyfriend's body through his camera lens and wondering if he'd ever have had enough of it.

Bucky just laughed at him, but in a warm, gentle way. He held the pose, then flexed his arm muscle so Clint could get that on film as well, before he finally let Bucky drop the shirt, and focused in on the lines of his abs instead, the dark crease of his belly button and the way his jeans hung just low enough to expose his hip bones.

The light was fading and Clint was very aware that it was a bit too cold in the warehouse to ask Bucky to take off any more clothes, so he stepped back to take a couple of last photos of Bucky's casual lean and the provocative look he was giving him.

"Okay," he said, forcing himself to lower his camera. "I'm done."

"Yeah? Sure?" asked Bucky, not moving because he knew that all too often Clint changed his mind and ended up taking a bunch more.

Clint nodded. "Yep," he said, putting the camera in his bag. "All done."

Bucky waited until the camera was out of Clint’s hands before he moved, quick and certain like a predator, wrapping Clint up in his arms and turning to push him back against a wall. "My turn then," he said in a low voice that made Clint shudder, then he leaned in to kiss him.

Clint gave himself over to the kiss willingly, melting into Bucky's arms and kissing him back.

"Do you have any idea what it's like?" asked Bucky between kisses, moving from his mouth along Clint's jaw instead. "Holding still while you look at me like that? Taking photos like it's an act of worship? Fuck, Clint, the way you see me-"

He bit down at the side of Clint's neck, making him gasp, then moved to suck hard just under his ear, right where he knew it would drive Clint crazy.

The whole photoshoot had felt like foreplay and now Bucky's desperate passion was taking Clint apart, leaving him unable to do much more than moan.

"It's how everyone should see you," he managed to get out and Bucky gave a little growl, hands sweeping down over Clint's chest to his pants, resting for a moment on his belt before cupping around his achingly hard cock and squeezing. It was just the right amount of pressure to make Clint moan again, hands sliding into Bucky's hair as he tried to hold off despite the rushing arousal in his veins.

"And what about you?" asked Bucky. "God, Clint, the way your hands look holding a camera, the concentration on your face… You bite your damn lower lip, what the hell am I meant to do with that?"

He fell to his knees, hands still resting on Clint's belt. "Definitely your turn to be worshipped."

"Oh fuck," was about all Clint could manage as Bucky pulled open his jeans, yanking them down his thighs and then curling his hand around his erection. "Bucky…fuck."

"I love you," Bucky told him, "you're so hot right now, Jesus, Clint."

He leaned in and licked a long line up Clint's cock and Clint damn near wailed, hands grabbing on to Bucky's shoulders to keep himself steady.

Bucky leaned in and swallowed him down fully and that was it, Clint was gone. He couldn't do anything except cling on and just let the sensations run through him as Bucky's talented mouth took him apart, lips and tongue and the way he ran his hands over Clint's skin, across his stomach and down his thighs, all of it building up the arousal in his belly until it felt like he'd explode with it.

"Bucky, Bucky," he heard himself chanting as if it were the only word left to him, and then Bucky's hand found its way to his balls, cupping them and gently squeezing. Clint came with a cry, head tipped back and eyes squeezed tight because it felt like even just looking at Bucky would be too much extra stimulation right now.

He collapsed back against the wall, just trying to breathe as the post-orgasm tremors ran through him. Fuck, that had been a good one.

He looked down to see Bucky had one hand still holding on to Clint's hip as if to keep him upright while the other was already wrapped around his own cock, moving hard and fast as he stared up at Clint like he was the work of art in the room.

"Let me," said Clint, trying to get himself enough together to kneel down and help Bucky out. Bucky just shook his head, pressing harder at Clint's hip.

"Not gonna last," he muttered, then drew in a sharp breath. "Oh fuck, Clint, Clint-"

Clint ran a hand through his hair and around his face. "Come on, gorgeous," he said. "Come on, let me see it."

Bucky choked and came, groaning with the force of it, then tipped forward to rest against Clint's leg.

Clint kept running his hand through his hair, keeping it relaxed and steady as his breathing slowed back down.

"One day, I'm gonna get properly famous," he said. "I'm gonna get an art show or a book deal or whatever, and it's gonna be nothing but photos of you, my gorgeous muse. And it's gonna be the best goddamn thing anyone will ever see, because you're the best goddamn thing anyone's ever gonna see."

Bucky snorted and leaned back, looking up at Clint in a way that made him want to be able to go again because fuck, how was this guy so hot? "You make a book of me and everyone's just gonna be looking at the artist's photo."

Clint laughed. "Not likely," he said, then curved his hand around Bucky's face, feeling the prickle of his stubble. "As long as you're looking, I don't care about anyone else."

"I'll always be looking at you," promised Bucky, then leaned in to press a kiss to Clint's stomach. "Every time you've got your camera on me, I'm right there, looking back. Don't you know you're my muse too?"

There wasn't much Clint could say to that, so he went down to his knees where he could kiss Bucky, holding him close and already planning how he wanted to photograph him next. Maybe if they went home and filled up the bath with bubbles, and then there would be the contrast of the hard lines of Bucky’s chest and the soft curves of the foam. Yeah, he needed to make that happen.


End file.
